


The Sirens Sing for Odysseus

by AuroraFawley



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream SMP War, Dream Smp, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt, T-Schlatt, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Traitor Toby Smith | Tubbo, Tschlatt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27523405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraFawley/pseuds/AuroraFawley
Summary: The events in which Tubbo learns to truly understand the power of words and exactly how alluring a siren's song truly is.A TSchlatt story, with a twist.-"The songs we sing, soothe away sorrow,And in our arms, you will be happy.Odysseus, bravest of heroes,The songs we sing, will bring you peace." - The Odyssey
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 9
Kudos: 132





	1. And they were the most beautiful things Odysseus ever heard

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One, In which Tubbo learns about the election results, the sun's fondness for dramatic irony, and the phrase: the eyes are the window to the soul.

It had all started so innocently.  
  
From his vantage point below the podium, Tubbo had watched nervously, yet excited. An election! The moment could only be described as unbearably important for what it represented. No longer could Dream and his cronies accuse Wilbur of being just another tyrant with delusions of power. No, this election made it clear that L’manburg had stood on the right side of history during the revolution, the side that stood for freedom and democracy. The side of the people.  
  
Even now, those same people were gathering in the square, each having cast their ballot less than twenty-four hours ago. Nestled in his front row seat (apparently being Secretary of State did have some perks), Tubbo had the perfect view of the podium and the seven people currently standing above the rest of them. The candidates. The sun sparkled behind them, the soft dawn giving them a hazy, almost ethereal feel that Tubbo felt was quite appropriate for such a special occasion.  
  
On the far left stood Fundy and his running mate Niki. Tubbo waved at the pair as he caught their eye, and they waved back, smiling. They were a sweet team, but hardly presidential material in Tubbo’s eyes. The pair of matching L’Manburg uniforms made their stance crystal clear. Fundy was just following in his idol’s footsteps, testing the waters as he grew into the political climate that Wilbur had slowly been introducing him to, while Niki was just along for the ride. Their faces were broken into big wide smiles, simply honored to be considered for the position. Hands clasped together, the two painted quite the picture. A sweet picture with no real chance of candidacy.  
  
To the right of them was Quackity in a nicely tailored suit, and his partner George, standing in sharp contrast to everyone else with just his normal clothes. Of all the bids for the presidency, this was the one that angered Tubbo the most. What was George, Dream’s right-hand man, doing running in the election of L’Manburg? Quackity was fine, a likable enough guy, though perhaps a little… inappropriate at times. Sure, he might be a little too racy to properly hold the gravitas of the presidential role, but it was nothing malicious. George, on the other hand, was an enigma. Tubbo couldn’t believe that Dream would just be happy with George deserting his cause unless there was some underhanded reason. Then again, Dream had been reclusive the past few weeks. Since winning the war and gifting L’Manburg its freedom, Dream had all but vanished, apparently off touring the realms and fighting in competitions. Perhaps George had simply seen his disappearance as an opportunity to gather some power of his own? Either way, Tubbo didn’t like it. Although, if it was the latter, he supposed he couldn’t fault George for his decision. After personally seeing Dream fight before, Tubbo wanted to stay far away from that, and considering the looks of fear Tubbo remembered of his compatriots, even Dream’s most loyal subjects would agree with Tubbo’s assessment.  
  
Unfortunately, the pair did represent a rather big platform through George’s involvement alone. Some L’Manburgians, a small percentage, not the majority, but a group all the same, wanted to go back to Dream’s government. And not just in policy form, but literally too. In all honesty, Tubbo could understand their point of view. Certain complications had arisen in this new democracy, chief among them security. L’Manburg did not have its own official army, trying to distance itself away from the tyranny of Dream’s rule, but that left quite a few holes in public safety considerations. Small scuffles had been arising, pets dying here and there, and many were sure it would all escalate. It wasn’t their logic that made Tubbo so angry, but rather their courage, or lack of it. How could anyone be willing to just abandon L’Manburg before it had even truly begun? Watching as George talked quietly with Quackity, Tubbo shuddered with disbelief. It might not be the party’s official stand, but anyone who wanted to go back would vote for George. And if there was a three-way split between the L’Manbergian vote, they might just turn out to be the majority.  
  
As if on cue, Tommy approached the pair and began arguing with George, out of what Tubbo could only assume was habit, and his face broke out into a big smile at the sight. As Wilbur walked up, a serious expression on his face, Tubbo got a look at the final, and in his opinion, best duo up for candidacy. The two stood together in their L’Manberg uniforms, not unlike Fundy and Niki’s, but with a more commanding presence. Their shoes were just a little bit shinier, their hats just a tiny bit pointier, yet the evidence of battle shown clear on their uniforms. They were clean, of course, yet there were still elements of war, the jacket edges just a little frayed and burnt from the rebellion that had taken place a few months earlier. Not to mention that the jackets themselves were littered with medals and other adornments.  
  
Ha, for all Tubbo knew, they could be completely fake. After all, there were no set awards for L’Manburg in place during the rebellion. They had barely even had a government at that point. Not that it really mattered anyway. Wilbur had been the general and Tommy was his right-hand man. If anyone deserved those medals, they did.  
  
At that moment in time, Tommy glanced over at him, and Tubbo waved excitedly. Tommy was going to become the vice-president! A real one too, elected by the people, not forced into office due to circumstances of war. After all, how could they not win? Wilbur had been an amazing general and first president, and Tommy had single-handedly gotten L’Manburg its freedom by sacrificing his most prized possessions, the discs, to Dream. Tommy waved back at him, excitedly as well. The sun was now just cresting over the mountains, turning the backlighting of the podium from hazy to sharp. Tommy now stood in an almost angelic halo of light, the new dawn’s rays fixing upon him like a spotlight. Their eyes caught one another, and in sync, their hands extended out in a mock high-five, even with the large distance between them. Not for the first time, Tubbo wished he could be standing up there with him.  
  
Suddenly, the sunlight was blocked out by a shadow, and Tubbo could see the final, lone candidate, as he stepped in front of the glaring sun. Mr. J Schlatt. He was imposing, to say the least, dressed well in a very fine suit, tailored perfectly to his specifications, accented in all the right places. His horns curved down his head, elegant. Yes, elegant was a very apt description for the man, Tubbo thought, watching idly from below. He hadn’t seen much of the man, didn’t know much about him. He was more famous outside of the Dream kingdom, and by extension, L’Manburg. He had been a last minute entry to the race, announcing his bid just a day before the voting had even begun. Tubbo had heard things describing Schlatt as a masterful politician and businessman, but not much else. Tommy had spent a little time with him, apparently delighted by the man’s ability to cause chaos, but Tubbo wasn’t exactly sold on the guy yet. Sure, the man had somehow managed to get Dream so worked up that he’d been banished in less than a day, but that wasn’t necessarily a good or bad thing.  
  
He was very much the dark horse of the presidential bid: the fact that he didn’t have a vice was weird, and his platform was even weirder. “Change.” That’s what Schlatt had promised when he had announced his candidacy and hadn’t elaborated on the fact. Just as well, Schlatt had his own little following and that was that.  
  
“Change.” The word kept echoing around in Tubbo’s head, and the more concerning phrase, “I won.” It had been in answer to an off-hand comment Tubbo had asked him earlier, something about whether Schlatt was nervous for the election or not. The dark-suited man’s only reply had been, “No, I won.” It was said in the same confident, charismatic tone that Schlatt used for everything, yet for a second, it had seemed so sincere. His eyes staring intensely into Tubbo’s with an odd glint of a promise. Tubbo had laughed and joked it off. “What a god complex,” he had teased, but Shlatt had simply smiled and repeated before walking away.  
  
Now, he was just standing there in the center, eyes sweeping over the crowds. It looked almost like he was drinking in their stares, basking in the glow of the attention. The man was nothing if not unsettling, yet somehow intensely intriguing. An odd mix of promise and threat. Wilbur stepped in front, blocking much of the crowd from him, and his entire frame seemed to sag just a little, as the well-dressed man’s gaze drifted down to that first row. For just a brief second, as Schlatt’s eyes caught Tubbo’s, Tubbo shivered.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen. Without further ado, I’d like to go through the elections results.” The voice boomed from atop the podium, echoing with the peculiar acoustics of the outdoor amphitheater, shaking Tubbo from his inner reverie. The election had finally begun, and there was Wilbur, dressed smartly and confidently, leading L’Manburg into a new age of democracy. Tubbo couldn’t hold back his smile even if he tried.  
“With nine percent of the vote, in fourth place, is Fundy and Niki,” Wilbur announced, a proud expression on his face. “Let’s give them a round of applause, everyone.”  
  
“Yeah! Whooooo!” the pair jumped up and down excitedly. Tubbo clapped, as did much of the audience. A bitter sparse actually, to be fair, but still, a decent enough sound.  
  
“Nine percent!” Fundy said, elation dripping from his voice. It was a testament to their character that they remained so positive, even in the face of a loss, as they descended the podium smiling wide. Too wide, Tubbo realized. The longer he looked at Fundy, the more Tubbo saw the disappointment on his face, poorly painted over with a phony smile. Clearly, the man had expected more than the results that had been announced. In Tubbo’s opinion, nine percent was already too high for such an inexperienced candidate. How many people was that? Twenty thousand, maybe more?  
  
That should have been the first sign.  
  
The applause kept going, a few taunts flung out at the pair. All in good fun, of course, but Tubbo was too excited for another few minutes of banter.  
  
“Hey, can we please hear the important stuff now,” Tubbo shouted up from his seat, gaining quite a few laughs and a smile from Tommy. No one listened of course, and it took Wilbur to quiet everyone down. Maybe it was excitement, maybe it was nervousness, but it was now all Tubbo could do to keep from squirming in his seat. Everything suddenly felt so real, watching Fundy and Niki walk down from the podium onto his level. Mere mortals now, he thought jokingly, as they took their seats next to him.  
  
“Sixteen,” Wilbur once more cut in, “with sixteen percent of the vote, coming in third place, is J Shlatt everyone.”  
  
There was a larger round of applause this time, and Tubbo breathed out a sigh of relief he hadn’t even realized he was holding in, as the imposing (elegant) man walked down the stairs. Much larger, Tubbo realized, than Fundy and Niki’s applause, and very enthusiastic in comparison. Sixteen percent of the vote in just two days of campaigning? Tubbo was suddenly very thankful that Schlatt had entered so late, and gave the man a smile as he approached the seats.  
  
Wilbur seemed to echo his thoughts, as he supplied commentary from on stage. “Now that’s a surprise, putting him in third in the popular vote.” Tubbo couldn’t agree more.  
  
Unlike Niki and Fundy, Schlatt didn’t look all that smaller down on the ground with the rest of the peons. Even now, after losing the election in third place, he carried himself like a god visiting the mortal realm, gracing them with his presence. It left Tubbo feeling awkward, and he tried to lighten the odd mood with a joke.  
  
“Thought you said you were gonna win, ey Schlatt?”  
  
Schlatt simply looked at him.“Oh, don’t you worry, Tubbo.” A wink.  
  
Maybe he had just been blinded by actually being acknowledged, but Tubbo didn’t think too hard on the comment.  
  
That should have been the second sign.  
  
“Now, that leaves two parties left. Tommy, come here.” Wilbur raised his arm, and Tommy dutifully took his place at Wilbur’s right. In the center of the stage, the two looked more imposing than Tubbo had ever seen them before. They looked like they were on top of the world.  
  
“This leaves the two major frontrunners, and I will say in second place with thirty percent of the popular vote is,” Wilbur paused and the whole room seemed to hold its breath.  
  
“Quackity and George.” The first syllable had barely left his mouth before the room erupted with cheers. Thunderously loud applause filled the room, not just from Quackity supporters, but from some of the most ardently loyal L’Manburgians. Even Tommy was shouting his approval, jumping up and down in excitement. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that if Quackity was second then that meant…  
  
“Meaning that the winner of the popular vote by forty-five percent is the incumbent party!”  
  
The cheers grew even more. Tubbo stood up to hug Fundy next to him, who reciprocated, albeit a bit reluctantly, apparently still disappointed with his own fourth-place finish. The stadium was filled with noise, cries of happiness and yells of defeat. Tubbo turned to the top of the podium to see Tommy, shining like the sun behind him, and Wilbur… and Wilbur standing there stoney-faced.  
  
That really should have been the third sign.  
  
“Listen, everyone, stop celebrating and listen!” The voice cut through the air like a knife, slightly hardened by some emotion Tubbo couldn’t read. People continued to cheer around him, deaf to the world around them as they celebrated victory.  
  
Tubbo, stood up. “Guys, quiet down. Let him speak.” He was, just as before, ignored again, and Tubbo couldn’t help but let some of his irritation slip through. Not for the first time, Tubbo looked up at Wilbur and Tommy and wished he could be there too. Have a commanding presence that people would actually listen to. He scoffed at the idea and the residual envy. Wilbur and Tommy needed him for other things, just as important as that like collecting resources. (It didn’t feel more important.) Even so, it took Wilbur quite a few more tries to get the crowd to calm down. Slowly, the cheers died down, even as Tommy seemed completely oblivious to the tone change around him.  
“Thank you!” he shouted from the podium waving to the no longer cheering crowd. “Let’s go!”  
  
“Tommy, listen.” Wilbur’s voice was filled with hard determination.  
  
“But..”  
  
“Could George please come back up on the stage?” Quackity’s voice cut across Tommy, and it was only now Tubbo realized that he had not descended the stairs as all the rest had.  
  
“Quackity already knows I think,” Was it Tubbo’s imagination or had Wilbur’s voice quavered for a second? “Tommy.”  
  
“We did it Wilbur!” the young man had turned to his partner only to be met with a weariness that instantly quieted him.  
  
“Tommy, please. I, I’m—” Wilbur sighed. He was struggling to find the right words, Tubbo realized, something he had never seen happen to Wilbur in a public setting. He always knew just what to say, how to rile up the crowd. He was a perfect orator, and right now, he just looked lost.  
  
“Two nights ago, on the night of the election, after Schlatt’s candidacy was announced, and Fundy’s...” Tubbo heard a small laugh growing to his right. “Quackity made a deal with the Schlatt presidential bid, Mr. J Schlatt, please come back up to the top of the podium.”  
  
Even as Tubbo’s head swiveled to the right, past Fundy, past Niki, his heart sunk in his chest. Just as it didn’t take a genius to figure out who had won if Quackity came in second, it didn’t take a genius to do simple addition.  
  
There was Schlatt, the chuckle from earlier now clearing emanating from him, as he once more strode up the steps to the top of the podium. No wonder he had looked so confident, even down with the other guests. Somehow, somehow, he had known all along.  
  
“Quackity had said, no matter what happens,” Wilbur’s voice faltered a little, before picking back up again. “No matter what happens, he would pool his votes with Mr. J Schlatt.”  
  
Gasps started to filter through the audience, a few people slowly putting the pieces together in their heads. Tubbo just sat there numbly, feeling as if his life force was seeping out of him, directly into Schlatt. No, Tubbo wasn’t an idiot, and thirty percent plus sixteen was…  
  
“The current incumbents, myself and Tommy, got forty-five percent of the vote, while the coalition government of Schlatt and Quackity received forty-six percent of the vote.” Wilbur’s voice slowly began to be drowned out by the booming sound of laughter radiating from the stage, but he kept going. “Meaning that, on Tuesday, the twenty-second of September, Mr. J Schlatt has been inaugurated as President of L’Manberg.”  
  
Shouts of joy and confusion filled the crowd around Tubbo, but it was all muffled by the raucous laughter emanating from the top of the podium. It practically rolled through the crowd, infectious with what Tubbo could only describe as manic glee. It was the sound of a man’s plans coming to fruition live and in person. Slowly, at first, and then suddenly not so slowly at all, the crowd’s cheering grew more and more, harmonizing with his laughs in an unearthly chorus, as the mood dovetailed from shock and despair to unadulterated triumph and exultance.  
  
It was simultaneously glorious and terrifying to witness.  
  
There was conversation on stage, but none of it reached the ears of the audience, too swept up in, in… whatever this was. Wilbur haphazardly brought the microphone closer to his mouth in an effort to be heard over the cacophony.  
  
“By one percent of the vote, Mr. J Schlatt has been crowned—”  
  
“My first day back!” Schlatt’s voice seemed to overrule Wilbur’s, who looked as if he’d suddenly be put on mute. Tubbo watched on in numb anguish, as Wilbur seemed to fly through a million emotions at once. Firm disbelief, righteous anger, fear, arrogance, unacknowledgement, despair, and finally a solemn expression of acceptance.  
Voices started to filter back in. Cries of despair from Niki, Quackity calling for George to come stand alongside him, Tubbo vaguely recognized that his own voice was pitched into a low moan of disbelief and failure. Good god, how could this all happen?  
  
“Mr. Schlatt, it was, it was,” Wilbur might as well have had the microphone down his throat, his voice still sounded little more than a whisper in the crowd. He seemed to struggle with his next few words before finally settling on, “I’d like to say it was an honor competing against you, but please, step up to the podium and deliver your inauguration speech.”  
  
“Wilbur, wilbur! Are you sure? By one percent?” Even from down below, Tubbo could see a strangely cold fire fill Tommy, his eyes hardened on Schlatt’s laughing visage.  
“I’m sure,” Wilbur replied, his voice low and slow. World-weary.  
  
The blonde vice president (former vice president) didn’t move however, as if deaf to the words.  
  
“Tommy, get off my podium.” Schlatt’s deep voice was both a promise and a threat.  
  
He still didn’t move. Tubbo could just make out his finger itching around his belt, itching for a weapon, and for a brief moment, Tubbo feared for the worst. Feared for another war.  
  
“Tommy.” And just like that, Wilbur’s back turned from the podium, sweeping Tommy underneath his arm, as he headed for the stairs. Clouds had drifted in front of the sun, the last rays of light filtering out over the top of Wilbur’s head as he slowly descended the steps.  
  
Tubbo’s earlier joking thoughts about mortaldom didn’t seem so funny now. With each step he took, Wilbur seemed to age a year, while Tommy seemed to lose one, regressing back into childhood. Tubbo’s heart ached upon seeing Tommy. He looked exactly like he had the night before that fated duel with Dream. Broken, on the cusp of losing everything he cared about, and this time there were no discs to save him. Taunts echoed out behind them, a dagger into their backs as they walked down the very steps they built, in a country they had built.  
  
Silently, the two shuffled to stand to the left of Tubbo.  
  
“Wilbur, we’ve got to do something! A recount, at least.” Tommy’s voice sounded a little shrill to Tubbo, begging Wilbur to do something, anything.  
  
“Tommy, we’re citizens tonight, just listen to Schlatt.”  
  
This was it then, the five of them standing together once more. Four of them, the original L’Manbergians, and Niki who was in all senses the former First Lady taking the traitorous Eret’s position. In a split second, a thousand memories flooded through Tubbo’s mind. Niki, the gentle-hearted baker. Fundy, the devoted son. Himself, the loyal sidekick. Tommy, the hot-headed hero. Wilbur, their resolute leader. The five of them, together, stood tall and united in Tubbo’s memory, bathing in the afterglow of their victory from the revolution.  
  
“Ahem.” A deep voice cleared itself in the microphone.  
  
Just like that, it was all gone.  
  
“Well,” the voice echoed, deep and melodic. “That was pretty easy.” Laughter spread throughout the amphitheatre, reminiscent of Schlatt’s earlier chuckles.“

And do you know what I said? The day I returned to L’Manberg, after being banned by the former leadership, and the day I said I was running. An election that I won by the way.”  
  
The clouds broke behind Schlatt’s back, the sharp light that had once graced Tommy’s shoulders, now around Schlatt’s. On Tommy it had looked angelic, on Schlatt it looked deific, divine even. It looked like Schlatt was exactly where he was supposed to be in the universe, a universe that revolved around his wishes. God, it looked so wrong. (Tubbo had never dreamed that he would hate the sun for theatrical lighting and dramatic irony, but he certainly did today.)  
  
“I said things are going to change around here.”  
  
A cold shudder had come over Tubbo, before the words had even left the newly inaugurated president’s mouth. _Change_. What did that even mean coming from Schlatt?  
  
“I looked every citizen of L’Manberg in the eyes and I said, you listen to me: This place will be a lot different tomorrow.” And just like that fateful night, Schlatt’s eyes once more swept over the audience, and once more landed on Tubbo. He paused, smirked for a second. The same strange blend of promise and threat hanging between the two. “Let’s start making it happen.”  
  
Tommy tensed to his left, and Tubbo glanced over to see round and darting eyes, desperate.  
  
“Wilbur, are you sure—”  
  
“My first decree, as the president of L’Manburg. The Emperor of this Great Country! Is to REVOKE the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit.”

No, no, no, no, no! Tubbo jumped to his feet desperately, his eyes trained on Schlatt pleadingly. As if he had any say, could do _anything_ to stop this. Schlatt had eyes only for Wilbur, the same manic grin he had sported upon hearing his name called as the winner of the election once more filling his face. Screams, shouts, laughter filled the outdoor amphitheatre; Schlatt seemed to drink it all in as one might a fine brandy.  
  
Tubbo whirled on Tommy and Wilbur. Both had risen to their feet in panic as well, wearing matching expressions of shock and fear that Tubbo was sure he also bore. The two had clasped each other's hands, and Wilbur was already pulling Tommy away.  
  
For a split second, Tommy’s eyes met Tubbo’s, and the world stopped. The two looked at each other, mirrors of the same emotions, the pain practically refracting as they just looked at one another. God, how could this be happening? Why was it happening? A million thoughts raced through, as memories of running and hiding and war flashed in Tommy’s eyes.  
  
When had Tubbo ever spent more attention on looking at eyes before today? It was like he had just learned the meaning of the words: the eyes are a window to the soul. It certainly never felt more true. The two looked at each other, a single question hanging in Tommy’s eyes: Is it going to be alright?  
  
An arrow thunked into the chair next to Tommy, and the world sped up. George, most likely. The entire crowd seemed to turn on Wilbur and Tommy. Swords were drawn, armor strapped on, and Wilbur tugged Tommy along, as he broke into a full-blown sprint. Tubbo sat shellshocked in his seat, held captive by the crowd’s energy, the recent events, and that single question that Tommy seemed to have.  
  
After everything that had happened, Tubbo couldn’t see how the answer could be anything but no.


	2. So he stuffed his ears with candle wax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two, In which Tubbo discovers an inconvenient habit, the varied definitions of a garden, and the moment, whether he realized it at the time or not, he damned his soul for the rest of eternity.

“Tommy, run! Tommy, run!”

Flaming arrows reigned from the top of the podium, embedded in the wooden seat and ground. Tubbo remained still, more from shellshock than fear. His brain struggled to process the words that he had just heard.

“Wilbur, Wilbur, we got to go!” 

To his left, Fundy surged to his feet, knocking Tubbo out of his own chair on to the ground. Niki was up too, fear flashing across her face. Landing hard on his knees, Tubbo scanned across the room to the hordes of people turning and running in different directions. Most people were rushing to the left and right, a few turning over benches for cover. It didn’t take too long to figure out the reason why everyone was diving off to the sides. Right down the center, Tommy and Wilbur were sprinting away, followed by quite a few fully geared men. Oh _ , _ Tubbo acknowledged detachedly, we must be running _. _

If nothing else, at least that cleared up his next few actions. He bolted to his feet, breaking into a full sprint. He ran as fast as he could, eyes darting about, trying to capture every detail. There were Tommy and Wilbur, roughly 30 meters out. Ponk and Punz hot on their tails, 20 meters and gaining. Fundy was just ahead of him, barely 5 meters ahead and dropping back. Tubbo seemed to have gotten the worst start of this initial group and was stuck in a pack of people, swords drawn, chasing after the former president and vice president. He’d never been happier about the leather armor padding sewed into the uniforms, as quite a few blades nicked his sides and arms, slicing through the top layer of fabric. 

“You’re no longer welcome here.” Schlatt’s voice boomed over the haphazard screams in the courtyard, and Tubbo could hardly believe his ears. Not welcome? How could this be happening? 

Yet, oddly, twistedly, everyone seemed to agree with the horned man. Shouts of “Get them out of here!” and “It has been revoked!” echoed out from the cowering and chasing crowds alike, the sources nameless and anonymous. 

The booming laughter seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was the most intense sound Tubbo had ever heard. He was running as fast as he could. He could see the pair up ahead, Wilbur and Tommy, shouting at each other, running for their lives. Tubbo had to catch up. He had to get to Tommy. He had to—

_ Thunk _ .

And just like that, Wilbur went down to an arrow. 

Time seemed to slow down, as everyone froze. Seeing Wilbur’s blood staining the grass crimson was like waking from a trance. Like ice being injected into your veins.

The feathered arrow stuck out of the back of his kneecap, one of the breaks in the leather padding sewed into the uniform to allow for quicker movement. Tommy stopped dead in his tracks as everyone just took a few seconds to look. The former President was on the ground, wounded, and it was almost strangely mesmerizing.

“It was  _ so _ easy.” Schlatt’s voice dripped with pride, breaking the moment. Tubbo looked back over his shoulder to see the man brushing non-existent dust off his suit jacket with an expression that screamed smug accomplishment. It was the sort of confidence and self-satisfaction that Tubbo knew only came from well-laid plans falling into place. He had felt that way once after finishing construction of the garden. 

He turned back, but Tommy and Wilbur were already gone. It had only felt like a few seconds, but now all that was left was a smear of blood, the only remnant of their disappearance. Punz’s approached the spot and wiped his foot across the slick grass, rubbing it out of the nation’s well-groomed lawn. Tubbo got the strangest feeling they might as well have never existed in the first place.

They must have used the invisibility potions. Pride burned in his chest for insisting they should take them. At least, he had done one good thing already. But still, where had they gone then?

“Tommy?” No response.

Before he had the chance again, Punz was at his side, pulling him back towards the amphitheatre and the city walls. The crowd that had splintered off into smaller groups had reformed and at the back, amongst the masses, it felt twice as large as when he was at the front. He tried to step back, but Punz kept a hand steadily pressed into his back.

A finger tapped the microphone, and Tubbo’s gaze locked onto the Schlatt. He was so much smaller at this distance, the details blurred, and yet once more, he didn’t look any less in control. It was quite honestly starting to piss Tubbo off. How was it possible the man never seemed off-balance, no matter the time, situation, or angle? 

His deep voice filled the air once more, slightly digitized at this distance by the speakers. “Until further notice, Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit are merely a memory of L’Manburg. A relic of the past. A reminder of the  _ darkest _ era this country has ever seen. And I guarantee you all, dear citizens, tonight, that changes.”

The crowd was hanging on to every one of the new president’s words, and even Tubbo felt swept up in the moment. Just a little bit. They were all sitting on a precipice, led to the edge by just Schlatt’s voice, ready to fall for his next precious words. And of course, the newly inaugurated president pushed. 

“We are entering into a new period of L’Manburg. A period of prosperity! Of strength, of unity! And fat asses!” Cheers rose up through the crowd, the sounds of the earlier celebration coming back to the nth degree. Tubbo looked back and forth wildly at the enamored crowd, each person hooked on Schlatt’s next words. He blinked hard, forcing the noise into the background. He had to get out of here. He had to get to Wilbur and Tommy. The rest of the speech started fading in and out, as he began pushing his way forward. 

“Why is nobody saying ‘yes sir’?” A chorus rose up through the crowd. Tubbo could just barely make out Fundy, back on the podium, cheering louder than anyone. Jealous looks flashed through Tubbo’s mind, even as he wondered at Fundy’s betrayal.

“Can we give it up for no more Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit?” More cheers and Punz gave up on his half-hearted attempts at grabbing his shirt. He joined the rest of the crowd, as Tubbo pushed farther out.

“I was getting sick of those guys anyway. Who wants lower taxes?” Tubbo broke free as the crowd roared its approval. From a distance, the scene was even more frightening. Hands reached towards the stage, grasping in the air. Not a single person was looking away from Schlatt, much less leaving. In fact, it looked like they were pressing forward, trying to get closer.

He edged along the side of the wall, towards the entrance of his escape tunnel. He had broken his back getting it ready just in case, and Tommy and Wilbur must be using it to get out right now. They must be. 

As inconspicuously as possible, he worked his way down the wall, keeping a wide berth between himself and the insatiable audience. What had happened? Nothing seemed… natural. Not the election’s outcome, not the crowd’s reaction, not even Schlatt himself.

He had to get to Tommy. (Vaguely, he wondered exactly when that mantra had started in his head and how it had gotten so familiar.)

Finally, he reached the edge of the lake and looked down to see the hidden entrance among the reeds by the bridge. They were slightly trampled, crushed under hurried feet, and Tubbo knew at once that Tommy and Wilbur had been through here. 

He bent down, unlatching the hatch and distant voices echoed up to him through the cramped entry tunnel. A smile broke across his worried face, and he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. They had waited for him after all. He dipped his boots into the cold water and recoiled at the sensation of freezing water. The leather design that had been made to fit the uniform might have looked quite good, but they weren’t very functional when it came to stuff like waterproofing. With a shake of his head and small splash, he jumped into the thigh-high water and winced at the freezing sensation.

This was it. Likely the last time he’d be in L’Manburg for a while, considering the recent turn of events. A spike of pain lanced through his chest wholly independent of the freezing cold water. It all felt so wrong. How could he leave this place? They had put so much effort into everything, he had worked so hard to help build this nation, so hard to build his home. It was just as much as his as the garden was. He had spent days building houses, weeks helping planning events, had even helped govern and establish the legal system. He had helped build everything up from scratch with his own bare hands, had built it up from just a simple forest and van. And he was leaving it all behind to follow Tommy.

For Tommy. Right, well, at least it was all worth it.

He paused to glance around one last time before he would open the hatch, eyes sweeping over familiar sights one final time. Fond memories floated through his mind. The walls they had built, the van that everything had grown from, houses and shops, and a million little moments that had happened ever since he had started calling this place home. Even Eret’s Tower on the distant skyline would be missed. The river, the lake, the amphitheatre. His gaze lingered.

That night, Tubbo would have a million thoughts whirling through his head. A thousand different ways that the day could have turned out differently, all of them better than the weird heaven/hell he found himself trapped in; a million things he could have done differently. Except for this moment. 

As Tubbo watched the scene unfolding at the amphitheatre, the sound of the roaring crowd filling his ears, Schlatt glanced out at his left casually and caught Tubbo’s farewell gaze. Caught him right in the act of leaving. Tubbo froze for what must have been the umpteenth time of the day. God, he thought to himself, frozen as he was under the narrowed eyes of Schlatt, when had he picked up such a stupid habit?

“Tubbo? Where’s Tubbo?” Schlatt spoke into the microphone with such a straight face and genuinely curious voice, Tubbo almost could have believed the man had he not literally made eye contact with the man. Had he not gone immediately back into staring directly at him.

“I’m right here.” His voice was so shaky and so quiet. His gut twisted, as he realized just exactly what he was about to do. 

“Tubbo get up here, get up on my podium.” An outstretched hand reached out at the partially submerged teen, who just stood stock still, stuck in place. 

“Um.” He took a step forward to man, eyes quickly glancing down at the open hatch. 

“Come on, Tubbo. You’re the Secretary of State.” The words sat heavy in the air, equal parts a promise of life and threat of death.

No, this moment was different from all the others that had happened, all the other decisions he could have made. Whether he realized it at the time or not, this was the moment he damned himself.

“Wait, what? Am I?” Another hesitant step forward in the icy lake, another glance down. He could just leave. Tommy was waiting for him underneath probably. His ears tried to pick up any more of Wilbur and Tommy’s distant heated conversation, but there was just silence and Sclatt’s calm voice.

“Yeah, I think,” the man turned to Quackity for confirmation, “I think he’s always been that, right?”

Tubbo’s voice grew a little stronger, a little louder. “Yeah, I just, I didn’t think I’d get to keep—”

“Well, I’m not going to fire you!” Gods, the man’s voice was so loud like he was standing right at Tubbo’s shoulder, talking cheerfully directly into his ears. “I mean, you’re Tubbo! What? I’m not gonna fire Tubbo.”

“Okay.” Everyone’s eyes were on him, and shifted to the left as imperceptibly as possible, closing the hatch with his submerged foot. He couldn’t escape now, not with everyone looking at him. He’d give away Wilbur and Tommy’s escape path. He couldn’t risk that, right?

“Tubbo, get up here now.” The voice hardened, and Tubbo flinched, quickly slogging out of the lake towards the steps to the podium. Each step squelched with lake water and betrayal.

“Does he not want the job?” Quackity’s not-so-quiet whisper was picked up through the mic, and Tubbo started running twice as fast.

“I’m on my way! I do want the job, I do want the job!” It was a sick realization that he really did too. He really did want the job. This was still his home, and he wasn’t just going to abandon it. He was going to save it. His mind worked furiously as he ran, a plan of action already forming in his mind. It was risky, but if he could pull it off, it’d be worth it. He breathed in deeply, pushing through the crowd near the front. He could do this. 

“He wouldn’t be… plotting or something, would he?” Quackity once more, whispering like a devil in Schlatt’s ears. That was not what Tubbo needed.

“I’m on my way… Mr. President.” The words sat hot and heavy in his mouth. He felt like he was going to throw up, even as he reached the base of the podium. He raced up the stairs, words still rushing out of his mouth in a panic. “I’m on my way, I’m on my way.” 

He turned the corner, and there was Schlatt waiting for him, a skin-deep smile plastered across his face and horned head curiously tilted to the side. 

“Ah, Tubbo.” The voice was even louder, and it felt like a physical presence, pressing into the soft flesh around Tubbo’s temples. “So good to see you.” An unfamiliar warmth settled in Tubbo’s stomach at the words and the feeling like he was about to gag slowly faded away. His breath was a little steadier. He could do this, it would be easy.

“Good day, Mr. President.” His voice quivered a little. He stood awkwardly, the wet uniform clinging to his skin from both the lake and his sweat. Schlatt simply seemed to roll with it, not acknowledging Tubbo’s hesitance in the slightest. Tubbo didn’t know whether to feel grateful or disregarded. Thankful, he supposed, cause it made this a little easier, at the very least. He inched forward, peering out over the edge of the stage into the vast swarming crowd. They had quieted, everyone focused on the tense meeting taking place above them.

The man beckoned him closer. Outstretched hand waving him forward, even as sidestepped to the left. “Tubbo, get over here. Take my spot at the podium.”

Tubbo shuffled forward, haltingly, as if approaching a wild animal. Despite his suit and high-class manner, Tubbo didn’t feel it was an unjust approximation. Something about the curve of his horns and feral look glimmering behind his too-bright smile just didn’t feel human. A look around the room confirmed that he wouldn’t have the opportunity to try to run off, let alone do anything crazy. George, Quackity, and Fundy all stared at him with distrust evident in their stances, hands resting on each of their weapons. Not that it mattered. He’d play the game, at least for now.

At his apparent reluctance, Schlatt waved him forward, grunting with impatience. Tubbo surged forward and approached the edge, taking Schlatt’s place behind the main microphone stand. He looked down at the rolling sea of citizens and felt the stares of a thousand eyes on him and his soaked L’Manburg uniform, dripping murky pond water onto the shiny, paneled floor of the podium. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, and he felt adrenaline rush through his body. Was this how Wilbur and Tommy felt whenever they were here, center-stage? 

“Ah, I love this guy, my very own Tubbo.” A quick glance to the left verified that Schlatt’s eyes were once more locked on to his person. The voice was warm, but the eyes were completely unreadable at this point, despite Tubbo trying his very hardest to discern any emotion behind them. The man was smiling at least, so Tubbo did his best to relax in front of the now cheering crowd and a room full of possible hostiles. 

“As the secretary of state, as my right hand man of L’Manburg,” Schlatt continued. “I need you to do something for me, Tubbo.” His voice continued to boom in Tubbo’s ears, and he steeled himself against whatever Schlatt was about to ask for. He could do this, he needed to do this. 

“What Mr. President?”

The smile widened. “I need you to find Tommy,” a dramatic pause, “and I need you to show him the door.” Laughter filled the podium’s room, slightly manic, but mostly just amused. Quackity was apparently gleeful at this particular turn of events. Tubbo, on the other hand, actually relaxed at that. Tommy was surely gone by now, deep into the escape tunnel. He’d find nothing and just have to report back to Schlatt that the new outlaw was long gone. This really was going to be easy.

“Tubbo?” The soft call was just enough to make Tubbo’s heart break. Why was he here still?

“Tommy?”

Schlatt’s voice once more picked up, pressing hard against Tubbo’s ears. “Rumor has it, he’s somewhere around,” he mocked, voice practically simpering. “Perhaps on top of a building, maybe?” He flicked his wrist dismissively to one of the many houses lining the side of the amphitheatre’s space, and sure enough, there was Tommy, sandy blonde hair sticking out against the stone’s roof.

Tubbo took in a deep breath, and settled his hand resolutely on his scabbard. It was for Tommy’s own good, he just had to sell it this once. “Tommy, I’m going to need you to come with me.” And Tubbo started slowly descending the platform’s stairs, praying that Tommy would take the hint and run. 

Quackity’s laughter continued to echo in Tubbo’s ears, now digitized from the speakers, as he started making his way through the crowd towards the building on which he could see Tommy climbing down from. Good, Tubbo thought, maybe he’d finally get the hell out of L’Manburg.

“Bring him here right now,” Quackity egged on, just as Tubbo reached the base of the building. Tommy was already sprinting away, but Tubbo was too busy to care, distracted by the new set of orders. That wasn’t the original deal, Tubbo wanted to cry out. Why couldn’t they just let him escort Tommy out of L’Manburg? He glanced back up at the podium, giving Schlatt one last chance for pity or at least some other impossible task. He’d take just about anything else now, if offered.

Schlatt just looked on with hard eyes and a wide smile, voice beating on Tubbo’s skull. “Bring them here at once.”

“Tommy?” He started chasing after the blonde boy, hands white with how hard he was gripping his sword’s hilt. They were back near the lake and Tommy was just standing there, staring at Tubbo with betrayal written all over his face. “I’m going to need you to come with me, man.” Run, what are you doing, run, he wanted to scream.

“Tubbo, no.” Tubbo had never seen his friend more frightened in his entire life, not even after Ere—. Tubbo stopped himself, he didn’t even want to think about that name right now.

Tubbo opened his mouth to answer when Schlatt started speaking at the same time. “Surely you’re not breaking the law, Tommy? That’s the Secretary of State!” At that, Tommy’s gaze hardened, and then he dove into the water. Tubbo didn’t even pretend to jump in after him, simply staring as the waves rippled above the secret entrance. He was busy praying that Tommy was actually gone.

Time felt funny after that moment. He just stared at the water, the conversation happening on stage reaching him via the speaker system, but just flowing in one ear and out the other. A few pieces slipped through, more promises from Schlatt, something about George, a party, but it was all disjointed. Punz was shot right in front of him by George, but he barely acknowledged it. His eyes glimmered with the beginnings of tears, gaze never once leaving the murky water. All he could see was the remnants of Tommy’s reflection in the water, face screwed up into that hideous look of betrayal. 

“I think Tubbo’s crying.” Quackity’s voice pulled him out of his reverie.

“What? I’m not crying.”

“You know, I pay you too much to cry, Tubbo.” Schlatt’s voice again, a hard reminder of the situation he was in. They must have wandered over after closing the speech, but Tubbo hadn’t even noticed. Tubbo quickly pulled himself together before looking back up at Schlatt, ready to finish off the show for tonight. He just wanted to get into his bed and sleep everything away for a little bit, try to figure out exactly what to do next. Just one last act, he could do this.

“I’m not crying, Mr. President, really. I’m celebrating.” He said it with as much genuine happiness as he could muster, and it seemed enough to satisfy everyone in the group. Everyone except Schlatt.

“I don’t like liars, Tubbo.” The voice was low and hard in his ears. Tubbo flinched, eyes quickly shifting downwards, submissively. Surely Schlatt wasn’t going to push the subject, was he?

“Tubbo, what are you doing?” Tubbo’s habit kicked in and he froze, regretting his answer immensely. Apparently, Schlatt was going to push the subject.

“Uh.”

“I gave you an order that you’ve just completely thrown out the window.” Schlatt’s voice rang in his head like audio feedback, and it hurt. He just wanted to make Schlatt stop. “I expect—”

“They’ve escaped. They’re long gone, Schlatt.” That wasn’t even false. Even if Tommy really didn’t have any sense in him at all, Wilbur at the very least would have pulled Tommy off by now, probably into one of the many forests for shelter at night. No one was going to find them at this point, not with the sun starting to set in the distance.

“They’re out there somewhere, Tubbo.” Gods, how was his voice so loud and soft at the same time? He could hear the man getting closer but didn’t dare look up. “And I’m not going to let you sit around and do nothing.”

“Schlatt, stop. It’s almost night, there’s no way—”

Schlatt had walked up and grabbed his chin, forcing Tubbo to meet his gaze. “Tubbo, are you listening?”

Tubbo nodded. The voice had grown louder and quieter all at once. There was nothing else to listen to but those words. 

“Find Tommy and bring him to me.” The words reverberated in Tubbo’s head, refracting and compounding on themselves, drowning out all his other thoughts. He had to find Tommy. Had to bring him to Schlatt.

But not until it was safe for Tommy to come back.

“I’m sorry, Schlatt.” The hand dropped from his chin, and the man turned, waving Tubbo away dismissively. “But I won’t.”

Schlatt whirled around, and for the first time that night, Tubbo thought the man looked surprised. “You won’t? That sounds a little treasonous, doesn’t Goerge?”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” The man’s voice sounded almost giddy as he leveled a crossbow at Tubbo who instinctively flinched. The blue-shirted man was nothing to be trifled. Sure, he was sometimes overshadowed by Dream, but he never boasted when he said he was a trained assassin. After all, he had dropped Pun earlier that night with a single shot from that same crossbow. It wasn’t a nice thing to be under fire from.

“I meant that I won’t because it’s pointless anyway. They knew this land better than anyone and are long gone. At this point, they’re probably deep into the forest, looking for cover for the night. No one’s going to be able to find them at this hour.”

God, he hoped that was a good enough reason for Schlatt to get off his back. He couldn’t deal with this, not right now. Everyone’s eyes were on Schlatt who just stared at Tubbo, a thoughtful expression on his face. George’s fingers twitched over the trigger in the strained silence, and the air just got thicker as the tension grew. Schlatt looked at Tubbo for a few more long seconds, before motioning to George to lower the crossbow.

“Very well, Tubbo,” the man finally said, voice finally sounding a bit more normal again. It still had an odd edge to it, but at least it felt like Tubbo could move freely again. “If you think it’s stupid to go off at this later hour, you don’t have to. You can come with us instead. I have a few new proclamations for L’Manburg I want to give out before the day is done.”

He motioned Tubbo forward, and he fell into step alongside the horned man, who had a hand on his back, slowly guiding him back towards the stage. Tubbo wasn’t sure whether he felt safe at this point, but at least he had defused the situation. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. Schlatt did listen to reason after all.

As they walked, Schlatt leaned in closer along the path back to the podium, where groups of citizens were once more convening. “Oh, and Tubbo,” he said, head so close that the horns knocked into the back of Tubbo’s head.

“Yes, sir?” 

“You’ll be staying in the white house, tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m a person who thinks a lot about what and we look at and how we look at it. Can you tell?  
> Also, so many people write Tubbo like he doesn’t want any power and glory, and that isn’t fair. I mean, they write Tubbo like he has no personal ambition or drive. I think it’s safe to say at this point, Tubbo has always had ambitions, his own vision of L’Manburg. After all, he was a spy for multiple weeks, no one really questioning despite a clear conflict of interest cause he never once misstepped. That takes personal determination and a fair amount of deceit. Tubbo wants power just as much as anyone else on the server. For his own moral reasons of course, but he wants it, and he clearly enjoys the attention that comes with it. So just so we’re all clear we’re getting a Tubbo who thinks that he can handle fooling Schlatt as a spy.

**Author's Note:**

> There you go, first chapter. I've written before, not on ao3, but I don't exactly feel like posting links. It's not exactly as if it's in the same vein anyway. Regardless, hope you enjoyed this particular style. A bit more conversational, I suppose, I'm not entirely certain.
> 
> This will likely get much heavier very quickly, but I always like starting off my stories with an establishing shot. After all, the dark doesn't seem that dark unless you have moments of light to compare them to.


End file.
